Horton Hears A Who: My Little Boy
by mynameisweird
Summary: Before JoJo, there was Drake Jonathan O'Malley. Join Mayor as he remembers his first born son that brought him so much joy in his life, up until his tragic death. His first born. His little boy. Very sad. Drake/Ned bonding and JoJo/Ned bonding.
1. My Little Boy

It had been going on for years. Years. It was proclaimed, told by older Whos to their children and newcomers. JoJo was the first born son of the Mayor of Whoville. He was destined to take his father's place. Yet, no one failed to notice the Ned's disapproving look. Those that lived in Whoville long enough knew it was not the truth. It was never the truth and the memory of a small boy still continued to haunt their minds. They forbid anyone to tell Whos, the young and old, that JoJo was the first born. One may remember an old Who snapping at young boy who called JoJo the first born.

_"He will NEVER be the first born,"_ the old man snapped at the child before walking away. Unfortunately, JoJo was there and just as confused as the small boy. Luckily, he was only six at the time and didn't think much of it. Ned however, hated any mention of that. He didn't answer his son's questions and kept silent about the old man's saying. He couldn't tell him or any of his other children. No. He didn't want to talk about Drake Jonathan O'Malley.

Drake was the heart of Whoville. There was a giant celebration when he was born. Whoville had never seen a more grand celebration in all its years. There were kites, parades, cake, sweets, a ball, a banquet, and many speeches. Ned's mind went back when he was holding his son for the first time. April 6. A small who wrapped in a baby blue blanket with a tiny blue cap on his tiny head laid in a small cradle. On his tiny wrist he had a small bracelet with Ned's last name. He was beautiful. He was perfect. No other Who baby looked like him. Ned took the baby in his arms as it snuggled into his arms. He did not cry, he smiled. Doctors told him when he came out of the womb, he barely let out the whimper, he smiled. On the top of his head laid a jet of reddish-brown hair from his mother. From his father, he inherited beautiful blue eyes. Yes. Drake Jonathan O'Malley was perfect. Ned had never been happier, holding his baby boy in his little arms.

"Drake, I promise to protect you," Ned whispered to the baby. Drake smiled, putting his tiny hand on his father's cheek. He didn't know that those words would haunt him for many years. Every April 6, they haunted him. Yet lets not go to far and start why they haunt him. In the beginning, they were wonderful times. Drake had grown into a cute little toddler. Everything amazed him. He was so close to his father that nothing could drive them apart. Whenever they went for a walk, Ned would put Drake on his shoulder, making the little boy squeal with laughter.

"Daddy, what dat," laughed Drake pointing at Ned's building where he worked. Ned would laugh and say to the small child that he knew what it was. Drake grinned at the building, knowing one day it would be his. One day he would be like his Daddy. Everyone would smile at Drake as he slept in his father's arms. He was the cutest little boy to ever be born. Mothers wanted him as their son. Ned's favorite memory was when Drake would climb into his lap every Christmas and they would read a certain story or stories, waiting til midnight when Santa would show up. Drake would end up falling asleep around ten, along with his father in the big armchair. Now, the memories were all gone, the pictures were fading, the stories were in boxes. All because of April 6.

_April 6. Drake's fourth birthday. The smell of cake, candles, and candy floated in the air. It was a small party with only close friends and families. Ned held up his little boy as he blew out the candles. "Dwaddy, me four," he squealed with laugher. Ned nodded, patting his head. Then, as quick as lightening, he dashed to his presents. Ned and Sally laughed as the boy tore through the presents. Drake, being so polite, loved everyone of them, giving everyone a heart-melting smile._

_"Here, Drake. Happy Birthday, my son," said Ned with a proud smile. Drake gasped at the box and opened it rapidly. He looked inside and there was a soccer ball. Drake jumped up at down, the ball in his hands shouting over and over, "A soccer ball! A soccer ball!" Ned laughed hugging his son who hugged him back tightly whispering a thank you and an I love you. Ned was close to tears, but knew he shouldn't cry. His son would start to worry and he didn't want that for his little man on his special day. _

_"Why don't we go outside and try it out. Who's up for a game," Ned shouted happily. All the children jumped up and down running outside. Drake started to rush out when Ned grabbed his arm gently._

_"Drake, don't go out into the streets, okay," he said to his son sternly. There were many cars that passed by his home and always worried when his son would play outside. Drake nodded with a smile, rushing outside. Ned sighed and smiled as his son ran out. He started to clean up the mess on the table, putting the leftover cake away._

_"Good birthday, no," laughed Sally as she put the plates in the sink._

_"I'd do anything for the little guy just to see his face light up," Ned smiled, "I better go and get the extra plates." He headed toward the dining room. Suddenly a screech was heard, a horn was honked, and a small scream pierced his ears, followed by many cries. Ned dropped the glass plates rushing outside._

_"What happened," shouted Ned. He saw his little sister Harriet with a small child in her arms, crying. She looked at Ned with frightened eyes and tears staining her face._

_"N-Ned. D-Drake...," that was all she could say through her sobs. It was enough for Ned as he rushed into the street. The sight broke his heart. There was Drake, laying down on the concrete street, surrounded by a pool of crimson red. Right by his hand was the soccer ball, a bloody hand print stained its white surface. Ned rushed to his son, taking him gently in his arm._

_"DRAKE?! Drake, buddy, stay with me. Stay with me," cried Ned, tears running down his cheeks as moved the reddish-brown bangs from his face revealing his bruised and cut face. Ned stroked his cheek, trying to wake him up. Drake opened his eyes. Ned almost stopped breathing. He had never seen his son's eyes so full of pain, so full of emptiness. _

_"Daddy," he whispered. He saw tears fall down from his father's cheeks. He had never seen his father cried and it scared him. He never did want his father to cry, not even in the worst of times. Drake listened to the sounds. He heard people screaming and crying, his own mother calling 911 with sobs breaking through her. He looked up at the sky that slowly turned gray. So this was it. He finally understood the saying his grandfather told him, "Even the good die young." He stared back at his father who kept repeating words of reassurance that he was going to be alright. Drake smiled. Ned looked at his son who smiled, even through the pain. That was his son, always smiling even in the worst of times. With all his strength, the blue-eyed boy reached his hand up to his father's cheeks and with trembling hands, wiped the tears away._

_"Don't cry, Daddy. I'm gwoing to be...okay," he said with reassurance._

_  
"Drake, stay," Ned said sternly holding his son closer to him. Drake smiled. _

_"Daddy, bye bye?"_

_"No! No, you are not going away! Stay with me," Ned snapped, kissing his son's forhead. Drake sighed looking at his hands._

_"Daddy...I love you," he whispered, wiping away the last of his father's cheeks. Another smile was plastered and then, he took a deep gulp of the fresh air around him. He hugged his father and exhaled the breath of life one last time. His tiny eyes closed, never to show the beautiful blue orbs again. Ned put his hand on the boy's heart, feeling it slowly beat until nothing. Ned broke into sobs again, holding his boy closer to him screaming his name. He let out a bloodcurling scream causing a strike of lightening to flash in the sky and the crack of thunder roar. Soon there was a downpour. He cried in the boy's chest, the sound of sirens ringing in his ears. Two seconds too late. _

It was the last day they would celebrate Drake's birthday. Two days after Drake died, his funeral was held. Thousands of Whos, the young, the old, the big, the small, the rich, and the poor poured in front of the Ned's building with candles. Church bells rang monotonously and thunder roared silently through the sky. Ned,dressed in black, held his wife closer to him as she cried silently. He gave a small speech of Drake and how special he was not only to him and Sally, but to everyone. Blue balloons were then let out into the sky as everyone bowed their heads, mourning the lost of the future Mayor of Whoville. After the speech, a small pilgrimage was made to the local Whoville Cementery, people following the small white coffin into the valley of graves. Drake's grave was special. There was an angel with arms spread out over the grave and his name was on the polished rock.

_Drake Jonathan O'Malley_

_Born: April 6, 1989_

_Died: April 6, 1993_

_You Will Always Be Our Little Boy  
We Miss You and Love You, Heavenly Angel_

Then, his coffin was lowered. Ned picked up a clumb of dirt. Tears running down his cheeks, he opened his hands and let it fall onto the grave. Soon, the coffin was covered with dirt and a wreath of beautiful blue flowers that matched Drake's eyes perfectly was placed next to his son tombstone. Everyone bowed and walked away slowly. Sally touched Ned's arm.

"I'll catch up, Sally. I need to say good-bye alone." The husband placed a gently kiss on his wife's forehead. Sally gave him a small nod and walked away. Ned bent down, putting his hand on the grave. He sniffed back further tears and kissed the tomb.

"I promise that no one will ever replace you. No one will ever take your place. No one else will be **MY** little boy." He traced his hand across Drake's name and silently walked away. Now many may think of the young son that was about to be born, but I must remind you this was before. Before Ned knew he would have another son. Ned stared ahead, feeling nothing but depression, nothing but emptiness. As he walked toward his home, he would turn around, hoping to see Drake following him and laughing. No one did and no sound of the beautiful laughter that brightened up Ned's darken days were heard. He didn't keep his promise in protecting his son, but he could keep his promise that no one would be his little boy. No one would take the place of his son. No. No more children, no more sons for him. Reluctance? Yes, but for him a good reason. Drake was special and special he will always be. No more sons. No son except the one he would visit every year and put a new wreath of flowers by his grave. Put flowers to--

"My little boy," Ned whispered opening the door to his home and encompassed by the darkness.


	2. RePromising

The talk came too soon for Ned's taste. It had been a eight months after the death of his son and now, people were talking. Talking of the future. Ned knew he had to let go of the past but it was damn hard when it involved the death of a child. Parents should die before their children, not after. Many of the Whos tried to keep the talk to a minimum, but Ned was smart, even if not shown. He knew of the talk that was going on and he was getting sick and tired of it. He would return home right after work. The home was quiet now, no sounds of laughter or the call of, "Daddy!" Sally continued her days cleaning the home. Cleaning what was already clean. She missed the mischief her little boy caused her and trying to keep the rugrat calm all the while smiling. Pictures still hung on the walls. Millions of them through the 4 years of Drake's life. The first two weeks after the funeral, Ned didn't go to work. Both he and his wife stayed home and no one bothered them. Many remember hearing laughter and sobs. Many saw through the front window Ned and Sally smiling and crying as they looked through a photo album. Everyday was more heartbreak. Everyday their home got darker and darker. Everything joyful was gone. Sally also knew of the talk that was going on. Some of her female friends told her. She finally confessed her deep secret to them. They squealed and hugged her. Sally smiled sadly. She was joyful yet heartbroken. She didn't want to tell Ned. Even after 8 months, pain was still strong in his heart and tears were still falling. Joy. Plus heartbreak. Her friends told her not to worry and knowing Ned, he would accept anything even if he thought the time was wrong. Ned would pull a smile and support his wife. But Sally knew if he had a smile it would be a fake one. For the next 8 months, he barely smiled or even laughed. When addressing the citizens, he faked a cheery voice and smile. The Whos could still sense his sadness and his fight to keep a smile. If he did smile at her and be happy, she knew it was fake. Sally only nodded as her friends started to reassure her of Ned's mood when he found out. Sally gently put a hand on her stomach. The baby was barely 2 weeks old. She didn't expect to be pregnant. It didn't mean she DIDN'T WANT the baby, it was just...too soon.

"I don't know girls. I'm just...I just think it's too early for another one." Sally's best friend, Chrissy, touched her hand.

"Sweetie, don't be scared. Maybe the baby will be a blessing. What would Drake have wanted. I don't think he would want you two from having a family just because of his death. I know it's hard sweetie but you have to let go of the past to have a future." Sally nodded looking down at her stomach. Another baby to be part of their family.

"So, Sally. What do you think the baby's going to be," asked Jezabel sipping her coffee. Sally smiled softly.

"I have this strange feeling it will be another boy," she said. The girls squealed and started to talk of the little baby. Sally stayed silent and placed her other hand on her stomach. It's not a replacement, is it? Drake would've wanted them to move on. If the baby was a boy, he would be Ned's little boy as well. She hoped her future son would not be second best compared to his late brother. Finally, the friends said their goodbye, reassuring Sally one last time. Sally smiled and started to walk home. She saw Ned's car in the driveway. She took a deep breath as she headed inside. For once the lights were on and the home did not seem like a haunted house. She saw her husband at the dining room table looking over at some papers, staring at them stressfully. He sighed and rubbed his eyes, placing his head in his hands.

"Ned?" Ned looked up to see his wife with a soft yet nervous smile.

"Hey," he smiled going up and giving her a gentle kiss. The kiss felt different, almost hesitant. Ned looked down at her, breaking the kiss. He had worried eyes as Sally stared down at the ground.

"Sally? What's wrong?" Sally sighed, getting out of her embrace and taking a seat in her dining chair. This was it. It was time to tell him. Hopefully God and her son's spirit was on her side, giving her the courage she needed to tell her husband the most hearbreaking and joyful thing to ever happen to them after the death of their baby boy.

"Ned...I went to the doctor again." Ned quickly rushed to her side.

"Are you okay? Are you sick?" He was in panic. He lost his son, he didn't want to lose his wife as well. Why was God punishing him when all he tried to do is be a good father, husband, and mayor?

"Calm down. I'm not sick. I just went to get a test. Ned?" She took his hands in his own. Ned looked at her impatiently. What did his wife want to say that made her so nervous? Whatever it was, he would help her. Whatever it was, he would accept it. As long as it wasn't--

"Ned, I'm pregnant," she whispered. Ned's eyes widened. It started to become harder to breath. He looked at his wife who was on the verge of tears. For a moment, she looked like a 16 year old who just told her father she was pregnant. She had her arms around her stomach. It was a sign that she wanted to keep him, to keep the precious baby laid within her, protected in her womb. Ned sighed staring at the ground. It wasn't was he expected, and he wasn't sure if it was something that he wanted. But Sally, the way she protected the baby with her arms. It almost looked like she was protecting it from him. Ned closed his eyes. For Sally. For her. He silently placed his lips on hers, giving her a gentle kiss.

"Ned?" Sally was shocked as her husband smiled at her. It was not forced, but it had sadness.

"This baby will be a blessing," he whispered placing his hand on her stomach. Sally smiled and hugged him tightly, whispering an thank you to her husband. Ned hugged her back, an uncomfortable face as he buried his face in his shoulder. Not only had he broken his first promise to Drake, but he was also breaking his second. He finally knew the saying that promises were never meant to be kept.

_9 Months Later_

Ned sat in the hospital room staring at the clock. His eyes looked blue and were bloodshot. His hair was unruly and nothing but tiredness could be seen on his face. Sally's water broke in the middle of the night and she had been in labor for two hours already. The last nine months were hectic. Everyone was excited for the new baby to be born. As soon as Sally told her friends, everyone knew and offering their congratulations. Ned spent a lot of time getting ready the new home. He had made the decision to take down Drake's pictures and put them in an extra guest room where no one could enter with a key. It was hard, but he made the decision that he wouldn't tell his child until he or she was a little bit older to know of their deceased brother. He got Drake's old room ready, tearing down the racecar wallpaper and painting the room yellow, bringing out Drake's old toys and crib. Ned would never admit that he cried while preparing the room. The memories were too much to bear as the past was taken out again. Now here he was, waiting for the doctor to come out and tell him of his new baby. A new baby. A new beginning and for some reason, a betrayal. He tried to focus on the postive elements about having a new little baby. Still, memoirs of Drake came back. He silently wished for a girl. Having another son...it didn't feel right for some reason. Ned sighed and laid his head in his hands. Suddenly, the doors to the emergency room opened. Ned looked up to see Dr. Wholio. Ned stood up walking to the doctor who had a soft smile on his face.

"Doctor, is Sally alright? Is the baby alright?" Ned was frantic. The doctor would've laughed, but knowing what Ned had gone through prevented it. He gave the worried husband and father again.

"They are just fine Mr. Mayor. Your wife is tired, but alright. And...your son is doing alright as well. Congratulations, Mr. Mayor, you are the father of a healthy baby boy." Ned's eyes widened. So maybe things take another turn. It was not a daughter...it was a son. Another little boy. He sat down in the chair, taking in the doctor's word. Was this betrayal times two. He betrayed his son by having another child and the child was a boy. Still, he couldn't contain the joy he felt for the birth of his son. It was the joy any father would have for the birth of their child.

"Mr. Mayor are you alright?" Ned looked up at Dr. Wholio and nodded with a small smile. Shock was still in his eyes as was a hint of sadness and a bigger hint of joy.

"Can you take me to him?" Dr. Wholio nodded and lead the re-new father to the nursery. JoJo silently entered. It was so surreal being back here. He was following the same footsteps he took 4 years ago. He knew he would take them again, but when he did, Drake would be in his arms, happy and excited to see his brand new baby brother. Ned shook his head as he approached a small crib. Dr. Wholio smiled and left the father to be with his son. Ned looked into the crib. He saw a small bundle wrapped in a baby blue blanket. Jet black hair decorated the tip of his head. He was wiggling around, getting out of the blanket wrapped around him. His chocolate brown eyes looked at his father. Suddenly, a smile was one his face. A smile so similiar to his brother's. Ned only stared down at him. He was different, he'll say that. He had black hair. Ned used to have black hair until he dyed it brown. Drake had reddish-brown hair like his mother. The baby had his mother's beautful brown eyes while Drake had his dad's sapphire colored eyes. The baby cooed and reached his tiny hands up. Ned had a nervous look. It wasn't that he didn't want to pick up the little boy, it was just that he was nervous, nervous of hurting his baby even if he knew he would never commit such sin. The baby started to wail in frustration, reaching his arms higher, arching his tiny back. He stared at Ned with pleading eyes. Ned sighed and smiled. Hesistantly, he picked up the restless baby who immediatly calmed down after his father cradled him in his arms. The baby stared up at his father who sat down in a rocking chair. He reached his tiny hand up, touching his nose and giggling. Ned smiled down at the little boy.

"Hi. I'm your daddy," he whispered. The baby cooed in response. Ned laughed. It had been so long since the musical sound came out from his voice. The nurses nearby smiled at the scene, happy to see their mayor happy once again. The baby laughed along with his father, his eyes gleaming. His tiny hand then slid to his cheek. Ned leaned into his son's warm touch, closing his eyes. The baby continued cooing. Ned opened his eyes to see the grinning face of his child. He gently kissed his forehead.

"I promise to protect you." The words just slipped out. Was it because he was imagining the boy as Drake? No, it would be too cruel. But it was a promise he wanted to keep, a promise he wanted to make sure would never be broken. He couldn't repeat the same thing twice, not the same thing twice. His son was him main prioriety and he'd be damned if anyone or anything hurt him.

"I promise to protect you, Joseph-Jonas." It was the name he and his wife couldn't agree on. It was a hard time choosing a boy name. He wanted Joseph. She wanted Jonas. Choosing boy names was so much harder, not because of the name, but emotionally, Ned couldn't imagine having another son after his first one's death. Still, he had to make room for better things to come. They finally decided to name him Joseph-Jonas. Sally laughed, saying it was a mouthful of a name. Ned grinned and decided to give their son a nickname. JoJo, since the names had the letters J and O in the beginning. It was agreed. Joseph-Jonas Nathaniel O'Malley.

The baby grinned proudly at his name, knowing how unique it really was. He snuggled deeper in his father's embrace and yawned. He was adorable. He was his son. Yet, for some reason, he would never hear the words from his father. The words?

_My Little Boy._


	3. Second Born, Second Best

**JoJo's Point of View**

Today, fourteen candles laid on a cake. Fourteen candles were then blown out. Claps rang in the kitchen and smiles lit up on the faces of my mom, dad, and all my sisters. This is how birthdays were at the O'Malleys. They were always a big event and every month we would have one. With 96 sisters, there are no separations. Luckily, it wasn't too big for me. I didn't want a grand party like my siblings. I only wanted family. Then, presents came around. A few of my sister gave me cards with money. I guess Mom went to the bank to help them. My little sister, Heady, gave me a picture she drew of her and me. It was pretty good for a 1 year old, I'll admit that. My mom gave me a couple bucks just like the rest of my sisters. My dad, his gift was a shock. He gave me a Who Ipod, a black one that allowed me to download movies. I thanked him and gave him a smile. It was just like other birthdays, he tensed up and smiled forcefully back. That's when I knew, I knew he was thinking of him. My birthday was his. My birthday was his death. He would have been 18 today, he would be close to taking Dad's job. We would be celebrating our birthday together. I imagine he would ruffle my hair like Dad does and say, _"Happy Birthday, kids."_

I didn't know much about Drake. My parents never really talked about him. Even when I was little, I would never see pictures of him on our walls and Dad always has pictures of his kids. I couldn't understand why he didn't put Drake's pictures out for my sisters and me to see. I remember when I heard about Drake for the first time. I was six years old. Mom took me on her lap with Dad and told me I had a brother. I got excited, asking when I would see him. I looked at Dad who had tears streaming down his face. I looked at my mom, asking why was my father crying. She told me that Drake was in heaven. Drake got hit by a car and died at the age of four. She told me that he is in heaven and looking over us. I didn't know if I cried. Dad told me he died on my birthday. I consider that bad luck. My birthday was the day my brother died. Then, after that conversation, I started to notice things I didn't notice before. Every April 6, after my birthday ended, my Dad would go to a small room. Mom called it Dad's "secret room." Mom told my sisters and me never to go in there. It was Dad's place and Dad's place only. Still, being the sneak I was, I would get out of the bed and creep downstairs. I hid in the shadows as Dad slowly entered the room, unlocking it with a key. He shut the door quietly, not wanting to interrup any of my sleeping sisters. I came out of the shadows and tiptoed to the door. I took a deep breath. I was breaking the #1 rule in my home. But I've already breaken dozens of rules so this one wouldn't be different. I opened the door and that's when, for the first time in the six years I've been alive, I saw him. He was hugging my dad tightly, the same grin on his face I had. He was different. He had red-brown hair and blue eyes. I was surprised at the similarities. We had our hair the same style and the shape of our face was the same. On the top of the picture I saw his name in big black letters. **Drake Jonathan O'Malley**. There looked like to be dozens of pictures of him. More pictures than mine and my sisters' combined. My eyes traveled to my dad who was flipping through a book. I guess they contained even more pictures of Drake. I saw him smile and tears fall. He started to sob quietly. This was not what I wanted for my birthday when I was 6. My dad was all smiles in the morning, but when night came, the tears fell. He wiped them, but more tears took their place. I stared at my dad, suddenly feeling like crying myself. Then, I heard those words. The words Dad would never call me. The words only used for him.

"Drake. My little boy. My little boy," he sobbed quietly, resting his head in his hands.

My little boy. At that age, I thought I was his little boy. But I remember how he never called me that. All the fathers in Whoville called thier sons "My little boy" yet my dad never called me that. I never knew it was reserved for Drake. It made me feel...left out. I was his son, yet night like this, I wonder if he thinks I don't exist. Closing the door, I headed off to my room. I laid in my bed, thinking of the picture of Drake I saw. I saw a smile on Dad's face I never saw when he was with me or with my sisters. After that night, I made it my mission to find out more of Drake. I started to ask people of Whoville, specifically my former daycare teacher, Mrs. Whover. She seemed hesistant but promised to tell me if I didn't tell my dad or my mom. I promised.

"Drake was a wonderful child, JoJo. He was so amazed at everything around him. Whenever he saw anyone, his eyes would light up and he would greet them with the most heartwarming smile ever. The child was the heart of Whoville. Your father and your brother were very close. You wouldn't see one without the other except when he came here. His death was a shock. He was so young. Your father took it the hardest. JoJo, you would've loved your brother."

I only nodded. At 6, I kinda understood her. Now, at 14, it was clear. Drake, he was the heart of everyone. Drake was perfect. The perfect son while I was...unique, I guess. Drake was so full of life, he had many colors and brought them into everyone's life. Me, I only had black and gray. According to the Who Dictionary, the most depressing colors ever. Drake, he had Dad's eyes that always gleamed. I had my mom's eyes and I couldn't see any spark. Drake was all smiles. Every year when I snuck down, I saw an extra picture of Drake. He was smiling big. The only time I smiled was when I helped Dad save Whoville. I never did smile much. I guess Dad missed Drake's smiles. Drake, he was a chatterbox. According to one of mom's friends, she told me he would talk non-stop. It was hard making him be quiet. Yet he was really smart. I didn't talk for 4 years. My dad and everyone know that the main reason I didn't talk was because I didn't want to dissapoint Dad but because I probably would sound like Drake if he were alive. Drake wanted to be Mayor. I didn't. Another one of mom's friends told me that Drake was always excited when he went to see Dad at work. He wanted to be just like him. I didn't want to follow in my father's footsteps.

Here I am again. Standing and looking at my dad as he flips through the covers. He laughed, he cried, he sighed, he murmered things under his breath. I looked down at my hands, my fur, everything. I was not Drake. He and I were as different as Yin and Yang. There were at times I wanted to be him. I didn't know why, I just did. I hear people talk of me. They know me as the Mayor's son. Some call me his first-born. How wrong they are. I am not and will never be his first born son. They don't know the truth and I've heard people point it out. One memory though stuck within me. That memory stung me badly and it hurt too much to even think about it.

_"He will __**never**__ be the first born."_

At first I thought it was just the meaning that Drake was Dad's first son. But then, I realized it meant that I would never be the kids that brought joy to everyone. I would only be the Mayor's son and that's all. I would never be that kid. He was gone and I'm here to take his place, I guess. People still talk. They talk about Drake when my birthday comes. They tell each other how different I am compared to my brother. But most of the talk is about him. How special he was, how talented he was, how adorable he was. It was all I heard from people. Drake. Drake. Drake. My dad didn't talk about him. My mom told me it was because he didn't want to upset the the girls or me. He is happy, but I imagine him being happier if Drake was alive. I imagine him lifting Drake over his shoulders, my brother laughing. Dad never did that to me. He only picked me up or held my hand.

For my fourth birthday, I got a soccerball. I begged my dad to let me play. He told me in a stern voice it was too dangerous. I never did play with the ball. Right after the party ended, Dad took it and hid it somewhere. I still don't know where it went. He was so overprotective of me. He never let me cross the street alone. He would put his hand on my shoulder as we crossed the intersection or he would pick me up. It was a bit embarressing to tell you the truth. I often glared at him and told him to stop doing that. He would only reply that it was for my own safety. My safety from what? I knew the rules of the road. I didn't need to be treated like a four year old. I remember once yelling at him when picked me up as we crossed the street.

_"Dad! Stop it! Stop treating me like a four year old!"_

Big mistake. I saw the hurt look in my father's eyes. Like I punched him or something. Four years old. Drake's final age. I tried apologizing. My dad only smiled, patting my shoulder, and put me down, leaving me in the street. I had hit a place where he was the most fragil. That was the last time he ever crossed the street with me. Now, all these memories flooding back. I ask myself right now: Does my dad love me? It's not a question most teens act, but most teens in Whoville didn't get their older sibling killed when they were hit by a car. I am so different from Drake. It was probably why Dad called him his little boy. But does dad forget there is another boy in his home? Does he forget I'm his son? Does he see Drake when he looks at me? Does he see Drake Jonathan O'Malley or Joseph-Jonas Nathaniel O'Malley? If he had to choose, which one would it be? Now, sit down on the floor, listening to Dad's sobs ringing out in the room. I closed my eyes tight, grinding my teeth as tears dripped down my cheeks. I silently cried as I pulled my knees closer to my chest and hid my face. Right then and there I wanted dad to call me "My Little Boy." Most boys my age would be embarressed, but I wanted it. I wanted to be My Little Boy. I wanted to cry louder. I wanted to run into the room and hug my dad, asking why he doesn't call me that. What makes Drake more special than me? But I knew the truth. I would always be second-best to my brother. Even in death, he was the favorite. He is everything I'm not. I am second best and I always will be second best. Still, my heart cries out for that special name. A name I would never hear. I name I wanted more than anything in this world. My eyes started to sting as I blinked the tears away. Dad...do you know how much I hurt? How the past 8 years I always felt second best? Do you know how much it hurts when I see you fake a smile on my birthday? The only real smile you ever gave me was when we saved Whoville together. You said you couldn't ask for a better son. Right there, I was happy. You forgot all about Drake and for the first time, I felt loved by you. I know you love me, but not as much as you love Drake. Those are the words I wanted to tell him right there. I didn't hate him, I was just sad. I wouldn't yell at him if I told him how I really felt, I would tell him slowly. Maybe if I did, he would hug me and call me the name. That was my birthday wish from my seventh birthday to now. Just a few hours ago, I blew out fourteen candles. I watch the smoke travel outside the window in a clear white line, dancing in the wind. My only wish was for dad to call me that name. For my father to love me just as much as he loved Drake. I wanted him to forget about Drake Jonathan O'Malley for a little while. One minute or one milisecond, I didn't care.

Sobs burst from my chest. I wiped my tears away but more came. I silently whispered in the silent hall to my father who was shedding his own tears.

_"Dad. Please tell me. Please let me be what you call Drake. I want you to say to me, "__**My Little Boy**__."_


	4. My Little Boy Too!

JoJo's Point of View

I heard the door open. A beam of light warmed my back. I then felt a large shadow cascade over me. I didn't bother looking up. I knew who it was and I knew, since I broke the #1 rule in the house, he would probably yell and tell me I'm grounded for how many days. But all I heard was--

"JoJo?" It was soft, confused, and surprsingly, not angry. I slowly lifted my head to see my father's bright blue eyes, almost glowing, staring down at me. Tears still continued to fall down my cheeks and I could guess that my eyes were red and puffy. It was embarressing. I never cried in front of anyone and here I am, pathetically on the floor, curled up like a small child, crying my eyes out just because I wanted to be called a special name. I slowly got up, wiping any dust on my fur. I lowered my gaze, ashamed that I violated the rule.

"What are you doing here, son?" Son. That was my name. If it was Drake, dad would be saying, _"What are you doing here, my little boy."_ I know Drake would probably be embarressed if Dad called him that, but he would feel special.

"I-I heard you cry." Partially truth and partially lie. I did here him cry, but I've been going there for almost half my life so far. Still, it didn't explain why I was crying. I heard my dad sigh. I looked back up at him and saw him pinch his nose. He always did that when he was frustrated or stressed out. Drake would never cause that to Dad.

"Did your mother ever tell you of this room?" It was more of a statement than a question. Mom had and strictly told us never to there. Curiousity got the best of me, I guess.

"Yeah. She told us not to come here. I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't mean too." I bowed my head, not wanting to see his glaring eyes. He wouldn't yell at me since my sisters and mom were all asleep. I didn't here anything. I only felt a pat on my shoulder. I looked up at my father whose eyes had so much pain.

"No. You're old enough, now. Come in," he murmered as he entered the room. I slowly entered it. I gasped at the sight. It was bigger than it looked on the outside. It was big as my sisters' room and everything, every paint on the wall was covered with pictures and racecar wall paper. I stared at the ceiling. They went up higher and higher. I saw a tall ladder next to the fireplace that Dad built in the room. I guess that was how he got them up there. I then stared at the wide bookshelf where thousands of photo albums decorated it, all different colors. Me, I only had two photo albums and it was the color maroon. Drake had purple, green, blue, pink, orange, red, every color I could think of. I saw my dad sit down in the chair looking at the fire. I quietly went up to him, standing next to the big armchair right by his side.

"Sit down, JoJo," he whispered. I listened and sat down in the chair. My dad didn't look at me, but continued to stare at the fire.

"Dad? Are you mad at me?" I had to know. He wouldn't let me in here if he was. Right? I saw Dad shake his head. I have never seen him so...depressed. I almost saw me when I looked at him. The old me, the silent me. O'Malley boys _did_ look alike.

"How did you here me cry? This room is silent-proof. No one can hear anything from inside." I was caught red-handed. What was I suppose to say? That I followed him everytime I heard him get out of bed and go to my room? What was I suppose to say?

"I...I" My dad looked at me with a stern look. Then his eyes softened, a small smile on his face. He pulled the chair closer to me and put a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it.

"Whatever it is, JoJo, I won't be mad. Your old man ain't that scary, is he?" He laughed. It was probably meant to be a joke, but those words were so true. I was scared of him. Not scared of admitting that I've been going here since I was 6, but asking him if he loved Drake more than me. I looked down at my pale hands as they fiddled nervously. I was scared, but I had to do my best to not show it.

"Dad, I've been following you ever since I was 6. Everytime you got out of bed, I followed you. I would open the door slightly and look at the pictures of Drake. I would see you cry and call out for Drake. I hear you call him, "My Little Boy." Then, you walk out and I would go to bed. The next day, we continue the day as if nothing happened." I ended it with a whisper. I didn't like talking about it, but it was what my father needed to hear. I looked up at my father who had wide eyes. I guess the shock that it wasn't this year, but the past 8 years I've been coming here and listening to him. He took his hand off my shoulder and walked to the fireplace. He then walked back to the chair. I was confused at his movement, but then saw his hands in fists. His jaw was tightened as he sat down in the chair again. He angrily punched the table next to him. I jumped at what he had done. Dad rubbed his hand. I guess it was harder than he expected. He leaned his head back, his eyes closed.

"I'm sorry. It wasn't fair for you, for all these years to see me like this. That's why I waited til nighttime, when I thought you were asleep so I can go down here. You didn't need to here those things in here. I'm very sorry." I was surprised he was asking for forgiveness. It should have been me doing that. I only sighed and went up to him, putting my hand on his fist.

"No. Don't be sorry. I needed to hear that. Dad, Drake was very special, wasn't he?" I felt my dad tense up. He only nodded his head as he looked at the pictures around him. I knew it.

"Dad, I'm sorry." My dad looked at me, confused.

"JoJo, you have nothing to be sorry for--"

"Yes, I do. I'm sorry...I'll never be the perfect son." I went back to my chair and sat down, looking at the fire. I couldn't look at him. I wanted to cry again, but something was preventing me. I guess too much pride and dignity. I was at the age where it had become so important.

"Perfect son? JoJo, what are you talking about?" That did it.

"YOU DON'T LISTEN?! DON'T YOU EVEN HEAR WHAT THE PEOPLE SAY?! WHAT **YOU** SAY?! EVERY YEAR, EVERY GODDAMN BIRTHDAY, I HEAR IT ALL THE TIME! YOU CALLING DRAKE "MY LITTLE BOY" AND LEAVING ME HERE TO WONDER WHAT AM I DOING WRONG! I KNOW I'M NOT DRAKE?! BUT DOES THAT MEAN YOU HAVE TO LOVE ME LESS?!" Since I now know the wall were sound proof, I changed my mind about not yelling. Dad just stared at me shocked, as if I shocked him or something. I kept glaring at him with my brown eyes. The brown eyes I got from my mother. The brown eyes I sometime regretted having because I didn't look like Drake. I took in deep breath, slowly calming down. I turned back to the fire.

"Dad, I just want you to know I'm not Drake. I see you in here and you miss him so much. It's like you're forgetting me. I know it's hard, Dad. I know. Or maybe I don't know. Drake died when he was four, he died on his birthday, and he died in your arms. I just here everywhere how I'm different. I don't talk a lot, I'm what they call emo, and I'm just...not like him. I feel like you love him more than me, like if you had to choose between him and me, you would choose him. Do you love me dad? Do you _really_ love me?" I could feel my voice break down and my eyes sting. I hated Dad seeing me like this, but I have to show him how much I really hurt. Not just hurt, but really hurt. I hid my face again as I curled up like a lost kid hoping to find his way home. I could only wait for my dad to say that he loves Drake better than me, to have him point out why Drake was so much more special than me.

But he didn't.

Instead I felt two warm arms wrap around me. I felt myself being lifted from the chair as the arms held me tighter. Dad sat back down, stroking my hair gently.

"Oh, JoJo." I hid my face in his chest, crying. I didn't feel scared since no one could hear me except dad. I sobbed. I let everything I held back for 8 years flow out into tears. I hugged my dad tighter. I wanted to say why he doesn't love me the way he loves Drake, but my sobs were doing the asking. I looked at my dad whose sad eyes were staring down into mine. He hugged me tighter, placing a kiss on top of my head.

"JoJo, I love you more than anything in the world. You are so special to me. The way you think, what you create, what you say. I am amazed everyday. Drake. I love him so much too. I guess I never really let go. I blamed myself for his death. I promised him to protect him, yet I couldn't protect him from the car. He was so young and had so much ahead of him. My mind was stuck in what might've been. I'll admit, after his death, I was afraid of having more children, feeling as if I was replacing him. I stopped that feeling once you were born. You brought so much happiness back into me. I made the same promise to you and I vowed to keep it. I love you too much to let anything bad happen to you. You brought back so much light that left me. I don't see Drake, I see JoJo and I am so proud of him. I didn't want you to feel this way. I didn't want you to feel second best to your brother. I love you both equally. My little boy. The name I gave Drake. It was one thing I couldn't let go and now I made you suffer. I'm such a terrible father." I could see tears stream down his face. For once he wasn't crying for Drake, but he was crying for me. It was so surreal. He was holding me in his arms, just like he held Drake. He was crying, just like the day Drake died. I gently lifted up my arms and started to wipe the tears away.

"Don't cry, Dad." Terrible father? Had he even seen how excited the girls are with him? But it was how he treated me, how he left me out of everything when it came to his time with Drake. I hugged him again, trying to reassure him he wasn't a bad father. He was the greatest dad ever. He tried so hard for all of us.

"You aren't a bad dad. You just have a hard time letting go and I completely understand that, Dad. But you've got to let go. You got so much up ahead. I don't think Drake would want this." My dad looked at me with a heartbroken face. He was thinking of what I said. He then buried his face in my hair, crying. I let some tears fall too. I didn't know why I was crying or why we were crying. Could it be because of the loss of a brother and son? How damaged our relationship was? How hard it is to let go? A damaged father/son relationship. Could it be renewed? Could he still see me as JoJo, his second born but still his best? Yes. All those questions were a yes. I realized that my dad did love me but he let guilt take over him. Drake will never be far from Dad's memory, I know that. But he won't be there 24/7. My dad realized that there is another boy who need him and who loves him just as much as his first son did. As the last of my tears fell, I curled deeper in Dad's embrace. Being 14, if it was a different situation, it would have been very awkward, but right there, it was what I needed. I needed Dad's love. I felt Dad's cheek rest on my hair. I stared at the pictures. Drake was smiling his golden smile, this one much more brighter than the others. I started imagine that he was happy for his dad, to finally let him go. To start fresh with his baby brother and knowing that his son loves him no matter what. If it was me who was the first born, I wouldn't want Dad holding on to all the memories, preventing him from being happy.

"JoJo. My little boy," I heard him whisper. I looked up at him with shocked eyes. For the first time, he called me that! He called me the name I always wanted to hear. The name I wished for every birthday. They sounded so clear and right there, I couldn't ask for anything more. I would trade the money I got from my sisters and mom, the Who iPod dad got me for those 3 words. My dad only smiled down at and kissed my forhead. I grinned. It had to be the widest grin I ever had plastered on my face. My dad laughed at the excitement he saw and hugged me.

"Yeah, JoJo. You are and you will always be My Little Boy," my smiling fathered whispered to me. Right then, I was happier than ever. Drake was his little boy, but so am I. Everything seemed to balance, everything for the first time was actually happy in the O'Malley household. I know Dad would still go in this secret room, but I also knew not as often as he used to do. I know one day he will tell my sisters of their other brother and we will understand. They may ask questions and Dad, Mom, and probably I will be there to answer them. I can imagine some asking if he loves them the most. But my dad would smile and say they are his little girls just like I wa--AM his little boy. Just as Drake is, and how I am, I heard Dad whisper the words to me. Words that described me through Dad's point of view.

_**"My Little Boy."**_


End file.
